


DAII: Secret Admirer

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Secret Admirer, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris receives bouquets of flowers over the course of several weeks; determined to find out whether the flowers are some elaborate joke, or merely the work of a secret admirer, Fenris tries to learn who's behind them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DAII: Secret Admirer

It was the third bouquet of flowers Fenris had received in as many days. He honestly didn't know what to make of them. He didn't even know what they were, until Aveline came by and told him they were Andraste's Grace; rare in the Free Marches. 

"They need a lot of sunshine," Aveline said, looking around Fenris' bedroom. The curtains were pulled close, a heavy layer of dust settled on the top of everything. "Not the right kind of living environment for flowers," Aveline continued, in the tone of voice she saved for reprimanding her guardsmen. She looked at Fenris, "Or men for that matter."

"Don't lecture," Fenris sighed. "I've no intention of keeping the blighted things. Take them with you."

"And what would I do with them?" Aveline asked. She picked up the flowers and held them close to her nose, inhaling deeply through her nose. "They smell lovely, but I've no place for them."

"Give them to Donnic," Fenris said, "I am sure they're more meaningful than copper marigolds."

"Hawke," Aveline muttered, "That man, I swear. He will not let me live that down."

Fenris waved his hand dismissively. He took a seat by the window, opening the curtain briefly to peer down into the courtyard. "I care very little what you do with them," Fenris said, his tone indicating that he was quite serious in his apathy. "Give them to the blood mage for all I care."

"Merrill," Aveline said. She smiled. "Yes, she'd like these."

Fenris assumed the woman was gone. He opened the curtain again, this time leaving it open, and rested his forehead against the window.

"Aren't you at all curious about who might have sent these?" Aveline asked.

Fenris started, looking over his shoulder at Aveline. "No," he said, "I’m not. I assume Varric is playing a trick on me. Or Isabela, more likely."

"I think you might have a secret admirer," Aveline said. "Someone who is a bit shy, but awfully sweet." She smelled the flowers again, her smile spreading. "You know, Donnic gives me flowers sometimes. I always tell him I've never cared for such things, but--- Well, he's such a dear."

"Yes, he's quite dreamy," Fenris muttered.

"What was that?"

He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Be a grouse," Aveline said, "But I know you're flattered, and I know you're curious. Perhaps it's someone you'd never expect."

If Fenris had wanted to have his personal life pulled out into the light, and his sex life poked and prodded, he would have invited Isabela over to retrieve the damned flowers. Actually, Isabela would have been preferable; she typically did her 'prodding' in a much more literal way. 

"I couldn't care less," Fenris said. 

Aveline knew him well enough to know when he was lying.

***

The next bouquet came several days later, along with a note. There was a terrible poem written inside. Fenris admired the lovely penmanship, but disposed of the note quickly. Some rubbish about roses and violets; Fenris had no use for such flowery things; figurative or literal. 

"I want to know who told you to deliver these," Fenris demanded. The courier was a boy of about fifteen, dirty and scrawny. He looked up at Fenris and shrugged, "Didn't get his name, messere. He was all dressed in black, though. Had a hood and everything. Paid me three sovereigns to get these to you before nightfall."

"A man then," Fenris murmured. 

"Yes, serah."

Fenris shooed the boy away and went inside. He thought about tossing the flowers out, but decided to find them a vase to rest in. Danarius certainly had enough vases littered about, most of them chipped or broken; he managed to find one still intact, though it was a hideous thing, and seemed an insult to the pretty flowers.

"A man wearing a hood," Fenris mused, wandering the mansion aimlessly. He supposed it could have been Hawke playing a trick on him, or perhaps Varric. They both seemed to enjoy teasing him, despite his warnings that if he was ribbed too often, he would kill the both of them. 

Perhaps Aveline had been right, and he had a secret admirer. 

He wondered who would have ready access to such strange, beautiful flowers. 

_Andraste's Grace_ , Fenris thought, and then he knew.

**

The Chantry was quiet. Fenris expected some people to be milling about, but the only person he found was Sebastian.

He was seated in a pew towards the front, facing the statue of Andraste. His head was bowed, his hands clasped beneath his chin. Fenris didn't want to interrupt him, in fact, he planned on slipping out before he was noticed, but Sebastian heard the sound of his bare feet padding on the stone floor, and he spotted him.

"I see you still cannot lose those rogue senses," Fenris said, smiling. "You've caught me."

"What are you doing here, Fenris?" Sebastian asked. "It is awfully late."

Fenris had rehearsed all evening what he would say to Sebastian when he finally worked up the nerve to seek him out. The conversation had gone one of two ways in his mind -- either he would thank Sebastian for his interest, but let him down gently, or, in the deeper parts of his mind where the impulses were far more animalistic, he would ravage the man on the floor of the Chantry.

Decisions still had not been made. Fenris stood there, mouth half-open, probably looking like the biggest ass in all of the Free Marches, if not the whole of Thedas. He cleared his throat, pretended to find a splotch of dirt on his pants, dusted them off, looked at Sebastian again. "You... look well," Fenris said. 

Maker, he wanted to find a pit to crawl into. Preferably one filled with dragons.

"As do you," Sebastian said. He looked away from Fenris, towards the statue of Andraste. "You're free to sit, if you like," Sebastian said.

Manners had never been Fenris' strong suit. He took a seat beside Sebastian, keeping a fair amount of distance between them. It wasn't Sebastian he didn't trust, but himself. A bit of warmth between them and there was no telling what reckless thing he might end up doing. Fenris prided himself on always being in control, particularly of his wants and desires, but when it came to Sebastian...

He wanted to kiss him.

"I know," Fenris said. 

"I know that you know," Sebastian said, nodding slowly.

"What are we talking about?" Fenris asked.

"The flowers," Sebastian said, "Yes. You're too intelligent to be fooled for long. I never meant to deceive you, or behave so..." Sebastian sighed, looking down at his hands, which wrung in his lap. "Maker help me, I have never been so... hesitant. It frustrates me."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Fenris hated that silence, hated the tension that rode on the air. Everything had been so natural between them up until that point. They had talked and laughed and formed a bond Fenris had never believed himself capable of forming. He had opened himself up to Sebastian, slowly, subtly, so as not to expose too much too fast. The last thing Fenris had ever wanted was to frighten Sebastian away.

He could remember telling Sebastian, _I am not like you. I have done... terrible things. Terrible things that no man and no Maker could ever forgive me for. There is no vindication for me in this lifetime, Sebastian._

And Sebastian had smiled, that same patient, lovely smile, and shook his head. _The bloodiest weapon is not responsible for murder_ , Sebastian had said, _It is the hand that wields it, the hand that lashes out, that is to blame. You are a good man, Fenris. You are a better man than you think yourself capable_.

Perhaps Sebastian had meant to soothe him with sweet lies; the Chantry seemed fond of such flowery language. The truth was far darker, far bloodier, than Sebastian knew. Even still, Fenris had found him to be a pleasant companion, and a source of comfort. 

"I have not been good to you," Fenris whispered.

"Why would you say such a thing?" Sebastian asked.

"Because it is the truth," Fenris snapped. He didn't understand why he was suddenly so angry. Another memento of his time with Danarius, he supposed, and Fenris felt his heart clutch tightly. "I have used you. To me, you have been a balm, a... tender heart and a soft voice. To you, what have I been? Nothing but an angry, bitter, shell of a man who has no care beyond his own desire for vengeance."

Sebastian was quiet. Minutes ticked by without so much as a whisper from the man. Fenris nearly resigned himself to defeat, standing from the pew and muttering some kind of excuse for why he could no longer be there.

A hand reached out and grabbed Fenris' wrist. The touch was soft, even if the fingertips were callused and the palm rough as sandpaper. Fenris had expected the hand of a prince to be smooth and soft as silk, but of course, Sebastian hadn't been a prince for quite some time. 

"There is a difference between using and relying," Sebastian told him. He looked up at Fenris, his eyes so blue and so beautiful Fenris forgot how to breathe, or at least, how to do so at regular intervals. "I have given myself to you, as your friend, as your confidant, as your point of refuge... To come to me and take of me what you need, to give me your support in return, your unwavering loyalty... That is what friendship means, Fenris. I will follow you to the gates of the Black City if that is what you need of me."

"I would march with you to Starkhaven," Fenris said, without much thought. He should have felt foolish, but he felt only relieved. Relieved that he could still feel such a raw, beautiful ache in his heart for another person. "I would see you placed upon the throne with glory and honor as your crown."

Sebastian placed a kiss on Fenris' knuckles. He smiled against his dark skin. "You do not mind, then, that I sent you those flowers? I was concerned that you would find such a thing... impractical."

"From anyone else," Fenris agreed, "But not from you, Sebastian."

Apparently, Fenris had become more man than beast; there was no ravaging on the Chantry floor that night.

Fenris did lean down and kiss Sebastian, however. And once that first kiss was over, there was a second, and a third, all of them blending together, melting into one long, slow, perfect kiss.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** Secret Admirer  
>  **Rating:** G  
>  **Word Count:** 1,779  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Fandom:** Dragon Age II


End file.
